


Strange Shores

by lowflyingidiom



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowflyingidiom/pseuds/lowflyingidiom
Summary: Cable's been trapped in an alternate future with a misfiring time device again, because apparently that's the sort of thing that happens to him every other week. At least this time he's got Deadpool with him for company. (alternately: any excuse for sex on an alien beach)
Relationships: Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	Strange Shores

**Author's Note:**

> This was written around 2014, but doesn't require any special context besides standard comicverse. Recently found in an old drive and decided to polish and post.

The sand is orange, and that's almost comforting.

Wade is pretty sure he can blame this mess on Nate. He's also pretty sure that it wouldn't do much good. A long time ago they were in New York, doing the hero thing against the bad guy of the week when something temporal had happened (Nate had explained it to him at the time, but since the only important question – how do we fix it? - hadn't had any answers that Wade could help with, he'd abandoned the science of it a while ago) and somehow he and Nate were now somewhere that wasn't New York.

Wade spends a lot of time on the beach, looking at the sand, because that's almost like home. If he looks in either direction, things start to fall apart. Inland is the city, towering glass building that shimmer blue in the strange not-light.

The city is futuristic. Clean, efficient, and totally, totally abandoned. It gives the impression that it's been that way for a lot longer than the time they've been here.

On the other side of the beach is the ocean – and it must be an ocean because there are waves and it's made of water and goes on _forever,_ but it's got a strange pale green color and never smells like fish. There's no tide, but there's no noticeable sun or moon either, and he's got a vague memory of that having something to do with it. The sky is always purple.

Sometimes, there are stars.

Wherever they are, it's pretty clear that they're so far from Kansas that the joke's become pretty untenable.

Also, there's no TV.

The noise inside his head is starting to get really loud.

Nate spends most of his day skipping between various workshops around the city trying to get his timeslide doo-dad working again. Wade spends most of his days on the beach watching the waves crash their endless pattern over the rocks that dot the beach.

Some days he plays hang man with himself in the sand.

Some days Nate comes and plays with him, and it's not so bad.

Those are usually bad days for Nate, though he never says it. Just sits there occasionally drawing lines in the sand, the set of his shoulders saying everything that needs to be said – the work isn't going well.

Today Nate brought food – packages found in some of the buildings that are almost like the packaging they were used to back on earth, but with nothing familiar inside – and he tries to remember the last time he ate. It was probably some time this week.

He pulled the packaging open with his teeth and started chewing the dried pieces of meat (meat like substance?) that contrary to popular cliché tasted nothing like chicken.

He'd been worried about Nate eating the stuff when they first arrived here (how long ago had that been? Maybe Nate was still keeping track), without the famous Deadpool healing factor there could be all kinds of stuff in there that was one hundred percent toxic to a human metabolism. That would have really sucked, cause Nate staying alive was kind of integral to, well, _everything_ as far as Wade was concerned. 

Point was, the food was awful, but it turned out to be perfectly digestible, and Nate was eating it with a lot less complaint than Wade had managed. He supposed that when you grow up in a future war you get used to making the best of things.

On the subject of making the best of things...

“You know, I used to have this dream where we ended up on a deserted beach.”

“I remember.”

“... it wasn't much like this.”

“No.”

“No? No what? 'No' it wasn't like this? Or 'no' we're not going there when we're trapped in a bizarre alternate planet/alternate future/alternate dimension type place and we're stuck with each other for the foreseeable future and wouldn't _that_ make things even more awkward.”

Nate frowned at him a moment before answering, “The first one.”

Just as easy as that Nate was pushing him backward into the sand, hands everywhere all of a sudden and – blow his mind – kissing him.

They were probably never going to find out who was winning at hang man.

They'd given up on clothing a (few weeks? Few months?) while ago. It was always warm here, and whoever had lived here before them didn't leave anything behind to wear with the right number of leg holes. One day Nate had just appeared on the beach to play tic-tac-toe in his birthday suit, and a few days after that Wade had decided he was sick of sand in his spandex and followed suit.

It was making things awfully easy now, easy to know the exact moment Nate started to get _really_ interested in the proceedings, and maybe Wade had beaten him to it, but it'd been a while, alright?

Point was, they were still kissing, and Wade was grinding up and Nate was grinding down, and at some point Nate worked an arm in between them and grabbed them both in one of his massive hands and that was sort of wonderful.

An indeterminate time later, after they had both finished but before they'd found the energy to actually go clean off in the water, they were laying shoulder to shoulder in the orange sand.

“I still want to go home.”

“I'm working on it.”

“Not that this doesn't make being stuck here about a thousand times more awesome. I mean, that was the Fonz with a freakin' _jetpack_ awesome. But home would be good too, y'know.”

“I know. I found another lab on the far side of the city this morning. It had some equipment that might be useful.”

“Tacking-ons and bozos and stuff, huh?”

“Something like that,” he could hear Nate smiling.

So they'd get home at some point. Maybe not tomorrow, but they would get there. Nate would get them there. Back to traffic lights and people and department stores and tacos and oh sweet Bea Arthur _television_. And Wade could go back to doing morally questionable things for money and Nate could get back to saving the world (perhaps even _from_ the morally questionable things Wade was doing) and the status quo would be ante'd.

Until then, as second prizes go, this wasn't too bad.


End file.
